Road to Rivendell
by Lassar
Summary: Boromir slips his leash
1. Default Chapter

Title: The Road to Rivendell

Author: Lassar 

Rating: R  for language, violence, and adult situations

Authors notes: Not Canon! Now that I have said that, let me say that feedback is welcome. Nay, encouraged. Please. This is me playing with an idea, so let me know what you think. I always wondered if all of Isildor's troops died that fateful day, and what happened to them if they didn't.

      There were days when Boromir hated the rest of the councilors from Gondor, although that was usually while in heated arguments in council meetings. Tonight was a different story however. Tonight he hated them because he had been on the road to Rivendell with the slow-ass bastards for seven days. If he had been traveling alone, he would have been there in two more days. As it was, he had almost another week of slogging along listening to the same "No shit, I was there" stories over evening meals. In fact, he was gritting his teeth over the most offensive of the lot when the tavern door opened and a mixed group of elves and humans came in. 

       Ready at this point to take any excuse to get away, Boromir leaned back from the table and told the others, "I'm going to go see if that group came from the other direction. It would be nice to find out if any bridges or roads have been washed out so we can reroute if need be."

       The others nodded sagely and went back to their storytelling and drinking. Boromir stood up and turned to the small band. They were soaked from the rain that had been pouring all day, and were in the process of removing their dripping cloaks. One of them was speaking in low tones to the innkeeper, probably arranging for meals and rooms. They looked up as he approached, and to Boromir's surprise, he actually recognized a few faces. Nathron and Illyur had come to his father's court on behalf of King Elrond on several occasions. 

       "Well met, Boromir! What brings you out of Gondor?" Nathron said as he held out his hand in greeting. 

        "We have come in response to a call from your king, more than that I cannot say here. How are the roads between here and Rivendell?" Boromir replied, clasping Nathron's outstretched hand. 

       "Bad my friend, but not impassable if the weather improves. If it continues to rain, however, several bridges may go. The roads are a morass. I hope you don't have wagons to haul behind you, for they will never make it." Nathron said with a sigh.

       "No wagons, thank all the Gods, but I do have them" Boromir hiked a thumb back toward the councilors seated behind him, "and they may be almost as difficult a charge."

         "I am sorry to hear that." Nathron said, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

         "No you're not, but thank you for trying to sound sympathetic. If you were really sorry, you'd let me hide among your company until the old sots wander up to bed." Boromir retorted.

         "I think I can do at least that much for you. Come and meet the others." Nathron turned toward the rest of the group. "Illyur you know, but let me introduce Alairined, Geocinas, and Reavinel." 

         The three elves nodded greetings and handed their cloaks to the serving wench who had appeared at the group's fringe. The two humans who had been arguing quietly with Illyur finally dropped their hoods and unclasped their cloaks to hand to the waiting servant. Boromir was stopped cold, they were human women, not men as he had originally assumed, and beautiful besides. As the cloaks were swept away, he could see that they were wearing steel scale armor and wore paired long swords. 

    "Boromir, this is Iolair and Sionnach of the mountain clan Ulbh Chreag. They hunt Uruisg, or goblins, in exchange for the right to inhabit part of the Misty Mountains. They have just come from reporting a great increase in numbers moving into the ranges. They have lost all of Clan Shuibne to a surprise raid. We return with them to speak to their Ard Righ." Nathron sounded truly regretful, making Boromir think that Nathron had long known Clan Shuibne.  
     "Well met, Boromir." Iolair held out one calloused palm in greeting.  
      Boromir grasped it and Sionnach's in turn. "Well met. I hope this news is all that Elrond has stirred us over. Gondor has long practice slaying Goblins as well, and would be well pleased to offer assistance to such a venture."  
      "I think a few squadrons of archers will do tha trick. They are na so entrenched that they cannae be uprooted. We are jus na large enough as a nation to field a larger force." Sionnach replied. "We tend tae hunt Uruisg in wee raiding parties, na more than ten to a band. Wouldn't normally be sportin' ta bring more."  
      "Ach, an tha's normaly. Hain't been tha in a while now. We've been losing tae superior numbers. Thanks be to Arawn that they havena learned to fight any better." Iolair added.  
      "Come an hoist a pint wi' us lad, these elves doona drink anathing but wine." Sionnach invited.

      "I never say no to a lovely lady, let alone two." Boromir responded, thinking that this beat sitting with the old buzzards all to Mordor. The two were very attractive, one with flaming red hair and the other golden. Their hair was bound up from travel, but eyeing the length and thickness of the braids, he suspected it was at least waist length unbound. Besides, he was curious. He had never heard of the Ulbh Chreag or the Shuibne, and he felt that he should have. Any country, however small, that hunted goblins in ten man, errr ten person, squads should surely have come to the attention of Gondor. Although it sounded more like they owed fealty to the elves in some loose knit way. That was something he hoped to understand more about as well.

      "Glad tae hear it." Iolair said, and nudged Sionnach with a grin, who grinned back at her.

      Boromir couldn't help but feel that he had missed something as he watched their exchange. "Since you've had nothing but elfwater, let me buy the first round." 

     "Need I remind you that elfwater you're talking about has gotten you in trouble a time or two?" Nathron said sotto voice. 

      "Actually, you don't. Besides, that was years ago." Boromir said in the same tone, "And let's not tell the ladies embarrassing Boromir stories, shall we? I'll feel like I'm sitting next to my Mother at a state banquet."

      "Fine, I shall wait and collect a new embarrassing Boromir story. Those two can out-drink dwarves. Their constitutions are phenomenal. They can march all day, even in this weather, at a better pace than most elves would be willing to travel. And notice that they are not tired at all." Nathron pointed out.

      "Then they have truly earned their pints." Boromir said in a normal tone, and turned back to the women, "So, do you like ales or stouts?"

      "Stouts, if they've got 'em." Sionnach replied, eyes twinkling.

      "Stout would be preferred." Iolair echoed, and once again Boromir got the impression that they weren't just talking about pints. 

      Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor at least until he knew if they'd try to kill him, Boromir flagged down a serving wench. He ordered pints without making any of the comments that had come to his mind. He did find himself wondering what else a society that encouraged women to hunt goblins considered acceptable behavior.  

       The arrival of their pints shook him out of his musings. As he paid for the round, Iolair ordered another round and made a food order.

       Sionnach also made a food request, and turned to Boromir. "Did ye want a bit more tae eat, or are ye… sated?" The teasing challenge was there in both her eyes and her voice. 

       Well, two could play that game. "I thank you for asking, but I have eaten my fill of…dinner." Boromir replied with a challenging lilt of his own.

        "An wha aboot desert, ye bonny man? Have ye stomach enough fer tha?" Iolair said from his right. 

        Apparently three could play this game. Boromir settled back with a grin. He truly enjoyed the matching of wits that was flirtation. Several pints and outrageous comments later, Boromir was discomfited to see the councilors heading for their table. He had been enjoying their earthy sense of humor and clever wit, but it looked like he was about to have his wings clipped.

       "Boromir, you never returned to our table. What say our elven friends? Is the way clear?" as luck would have it, it was the very fellow he had left the table earlier to get away from.

        "The roads are difficult, but not impassable Lord Caelas. As of this day, all bridges are intact. We should be able to reach Rivendell only a few days behind schedule." Boromir had no intention of telling them that they would arrive pretty much on time, as he had lied about the day that Elrond had requested their presence by a week.

        "Then we leave at dawn to make up the most time, I assume?" Caelas persisted

         Bloody Hell, but the man got more annoying with every passing moment. "Actually, I had thought we would breakfast here, and give the horses a later start. They are weary from the mud and rain. We won't get very far at all if they founder."

          "True enough. We are about to retire for the evening. Were you coming?" Lord Caelas, being harder of hearing than he had been in his youth, missed Iolair's muttered comment of "Not yet."

          "Well, an he has a high opinion of our skills, an no mistake," Sionnach added.

          Boromir had to bite back the comment that came to his lips, and instead responded to Lord Caelas. "I could not possibly quit such company so soon. They hunt goblins in squads no bigger than ten, can you believe it? I think we should open up negotiations with their monarch, for training our warriors if nothing else."

          "An we'd stand for ye, should ye come tae the Hielands, and hie ye tae tha Ard Righ." Sionnach affirmed. "Ah've ever reason tae believe ye'd get along well."

          "You should take their invitation, my friend, such has not been offered to lowlanders in my memory." Illyur urged.

          "An so it hasna. Belike we've nae seen a man of such mettle amang the lowland bred. Course, we've nae wandered amang them since Isildur fell tae the treachery of the Ring. Elrond is a touchy bastard, an it doesna do tae rub tha past in his face by bringing a lord of Gondor tae our king." Iolair confirmed.

          "The diplomacy of that comment is underwhelming." Illyur frowned at Iolair.

          "Shut yer piehole Illyur, ye know as well as any tha Elrond feels he failed the Realm by nae taking the Ring from Isildur. He was serving the Weal tha day, an could do nae other than he did. Himself doesna believe tha, but we know. Jus as we know what is yet tae come. It's why we still serve when all others have forgotten. Elrond is worthy of our service. An this is nae an official diplomatic meetin, sae I can tell it an it please me. An nae nance aboot simperin an saying nothing fer a quarterglass, e'en though ma lips were movin." Sionnach leaned forward for emphasis, and so she could glare directly into Illyur's face.

          The other Gondorian councilors looked on in shock. They had never heard such in their lives. No one spoke so boldly to an elf, much less one of high degree. Perhaps they all expected a fight, for they took a collective step back from the table. Boromir hoisted his mug to hide a grin. He had always felt the elves were accorded more respect than they deserved. Longevity did not necessarily grant wisdom, and he had met a few elves in his time who traded on their race as surely as a young noble traded on his station.  Sionnach's statements were causing him to make yet another revision to his image of the relationship between the two kingdoms. This sounded less vassal-like with each passing moment, and more like a debt of honor somehow.

          "Well, I guess we'd best be settling in for the night." Lord Caelas said, and the councilors all beat a hasty retreat.

          Boromir's curiosity got the better of him, and he had to ask. "Worthy of our service? I thought you had a king?"

          "An so we do, mostly 'cause it's an understood system a' command. Our Ard Righ is nae dynastic, he is chosen from the clan chieftans at the contest held by the last Ard Righ. Tha way we are always strong, e'en if someone falls to battle or age lessens their abitility tae rule. We were granted land tae settle ain by Elrond, an army moves ahn it's stomach after all. There ha ne'er been royalty as ye lowlanders know it amang us, sae we owe fealty thru tha Ard Righ tae Elrond. We are the descendants of Isildur's troops, an need ah chain o command mair than ah passel of highborn brats. Our ancestors were tha ones tha survived the Ursig attack tha cost Isildur his life an the Ring. We came frae his Hieland regiments, an have vowed nae ta return tae Gondor until the Ring tha seduced our king has been destroyed. We ha waited lang for the day, an we shall finish tha war wi' Sauron's evil if it costs all ahr lives." Iolair said softly.

          "An ahm thinking ye've had ain tae many stouts, Iolair. Tha's nae a story tae be tellin' here." Sionnach jerked a thumb at the retreating councilors. "Do ye want tha lot tae think they've a claim ahn us? Nae offense Boromir, bu tha lot would nae understand our obligation tae tha past. But rest assured, we keep the Ursig host frame getting tae bold in the high places while we await tha call o' tha Horn of Gondor.

          "I feel like I am missing something. How is it that you serve Elrond if you still consider Gondor to be your home?" Boromir looked at Iolair, suspecting she would be quicker to tell him more.

          "Well, ma gran always told us tha Elrond had hardened his heart tae man, and was huntin Isildur tae take tha Ring back tae Mt. Doom. Instead, he came tae late, Isildur was slain. The Ring was nae where tae be found. His troops moved amang tha fallen, and found some yet clang tae life."

          "Tis passing hard tae kill a hielander." Sionnach added with a fierce grin.

          "True enough, and so Elrond gave tha order tae have all tha troops still breathin tae be healed. Now, tae be fair, no all that lived were hieland born, but those were few an far between. When tha last trooper could walk aboot unaided, tha highest rankin field officer took tae Elrond our thanks an a wee request." Iolair continued, only to be cut off by Illyur.

          "Wee request! That's a good one!" Illyur threw back his head and laughed. The sound was like bells. "General "Black Oak" O'Malley marched into the Council Chambers as bold as you please and informed Elrond that an elven city was no place for human soldiers. I believe he said something about excessive niceness bringing about dysentery in the troops."

          "Oh, I was in the Council meeting that day too, and I believe the exact phrase went, "All this nancing aboot isna good fer moral! We'll nae regain our fighting edge in a place sae fraught wi niceness. Gives me tha burning shites, it does." Nathron managed a good imitation of the hieland burr.

          "Tha sounds like an O'Malley. Diplomacy wasna a forte amang tha clan." Sionnach chuckled, "Ah didna ken ye were present a' tha Council o' Black Oak. Ye've been holdin out on us."

          "You never asked, and it was two thousand years ago. This would make it ancient news to the human ear. I never thought to tell you." Nathron replied.

          "Sae tell us now, wha else happened?" Iolair said sharply, clearly put out that Nathron was holding out on them.

          "Black Oak proceeded to tell Elrond that the best thing for both their people would be if his troops could get back to work. He suggested that while the dwarves lived within the mountains, none lived outside them. This allowed the Yrch to move more freely than was desirable for kingdom safety. He suggested that they hold the land as vassals. They would establish a fortress and patrol. They would hunt the minions of Sauron until the Ring resurfaced. When that happened, they would destroy the Ring that destroyed their king, and return home with honor." Nathron continued his narration to the nods of the two women, and the amazed stare of Boromir. "Has this run pretty close to what your people say?" 

          "Sae far." Iolair replied

          "Now we get to the interesting part. You see, after two thousand years, the tattered remnants of that army have grown into a thriving civilization in their own right. They are small as nations go, but it is a humbling reminder of how quickly humans recover from adversity. They patrol the entire range known as The Misty Mountains now. I doubt that Black Oak forsaw how long his people would have to wait for the return of the Ring, but it has never been allowed to fade into legend for them. They still believe, and wait." Illyur added.

          Boromir looked at his elven friends in shock. That they could have come so often among his father's court and never said a word about this was hard to comprehend. They knew about his father's failing health, they knew that Gondor was besieged by darkness, why had they not spoken of this hidden army of Gondorians? The hielanders that patrolled the Ash Mountains were a taciturn lot, fierce and hardy beyond belief. They held an almost legendary status among the Gondorian Military. In fact, he could think of a few respectful jokes right off the top of his head about the hieland regiments. His favorite being the one that ended with the orc crawling out of the woods saying 'Don't go, it's a trap! There's two of them!' A whole nation of those tough bastards would go a long way to protecting Gondor. With that in mind, he turned to Sionnach. "I understand the pledge made, but your ancestor's homeland may not be around by the time the Ring resurfaces. We are beset at all times by the forces of Mordor. We have had no king, only a Steward of the Realm, and my father is very ill. The armies of darkness are growing even as our numbers are dwindling. Could you not, in all conscience, return to Gondor and await the Ring's reappearance there? We would welcome you home with open arms."

**            "Tempting as tha offer is, we hae sworn an oath. We will nae break it. Until tha day tha Ring is destroyed, we are exiles.  An we've nae wish tae leave Elrond with an exposed flank. T'would be a disservice tae tha elves, an a stain on air honor.  Tha truth is, tha elves are much diminished in number. Ah dinna ken as they've enough o' their ain tae hold tha hie places, should we all leave."  Sionnach suddenly fell silent as Iolair elbowed her sharply. She looked up to see several of the councilors returning. They had screwed their courage up enough to 'rescue' Boromir from the bad company he had fallen in with. It was there on their faces, that look of stubborn determination.**

                Boromir glanced up as well, and he too could see the writing on the wall. With a resigned sigh, he stood up. "Good night ladies. It seems I must quit your excellent company. Perhaps I shall see you on the morrow?"

                "An it please you, for we ha much tae discuss, Lord of Gondor." Sionnach said loudly, then added in an undertone, "Haever, twoud please us tae see mair of ye, much mair. "

                "Gods willing, milady, and I shall pray fervently for their intervention." Boromir said softly, his eyes full of promise.  He stepped away from the bench, and turned around. 

                "Nice arse," Iolair noted to Sionnach.

                Boromir glanced back, winked, and slapped his flank.  He turned again to join his fellow Gondorians, leaving the ladies chuckling appreciatively behind him. He couldn't believe he was going upstairs to the suite of rooms they had rented, instead of staying with the Hielanders. The things he did for his country. Funny how he kept giving up things for duty, especially when he was supposed to be on his own time.  He did not look back, but gritted his teeth, and went up quietly.  A sensation he had long familiarity with. 


	2. Chapter 2: Revelry

RTR2  
  
Disclaimer: Still not mine, stupid orcs!  
  
Author's notes: This is for Osheen. After that lovely review, it would be churlish to do otherwise. Oh, I took away the accents for easier reading. I think you've got the idea after slogging through chapter one. If everyone prefers, I can put them back for atmosphere. Makes me no never mind…  
  
  
  
Boromir lay staring at the oaken ceiling beams. The assorted snores and whistles of the older men were scraping on his nerves. He had mistakenly believed he had become immune to the cacophony, but it had rapidly become apparent that he had previously been exhausted enough to sleep through anything. Tonight he was far from exhausted. With a snarl of disgust, Boromir sat up. Since he would find no peace here, he might as well go back down to the common area. If the gods were smiling upon him, Sionnach and Iolair would still be sitting at the trestles drinking stouts.  
  
It was a good thing they were a mostly deaf bunch, Boromir mused as he pulled his trousers on. He did not bother to put any extra effort into silence, and actually stamped his boots to settle them on his feet, just like any other morning. He pulled the white shirt over his head and tucked it in, then buckled his belt over it all. Only a fool wandered without a blade in these times. He wended his way through the snoring throng without one of them waking. The door creaked alarmingly when he opened it, but the councilors slept on. With a soft chuckle, Boromir closed the door behind him and stepped out into the hall.  
  
The sounds of revelry reached his ears the further down the hall he went. It would seem he had not missed the fun entirely. As he descended the stairs, he could just barely discern the sound of a violin under the shouts and laughter. So, they had found a musician from somewhere. Boromir scanned the crowd from his vantage point on the stairs. Surprisingly enough, the violinist was Illyur. Nathron was dancing a complicated reel with Iolair, Sionnach, and Reavinel. It bore a strong resemblance to some of the dances he had seen the hielanders perform during their Harvest Festivals, but much faster. Illyur reached the end of the song in a series of notes, and segued into the same piece with a faster tempo. It took Boromir a moment to realize he was playing the bawdy song called 'Balls to Your Partner'. It had a sprightly tune, and all the squires, his included, had wandered around humming it constantly. At least they had until the chatelaine learned the lyrics. She had not been amused, to say the least, and the tune had been banned.  
  
The four were fairly flying to keep up with the pace Illyur set. Suddenly Reavinel missed a step. The other three kept on, concentrating. Reavinel went back to his seat amid booing and teasing, and took a long draught from his cup. Money changed hands among the watchers, telling Boromir that there was a bet going on. He leaned against the railing and watched to see who would fall next. It didn't take long, on the next pass Iolair stumbled. She laughingly retired to the table and her drink. She shouted something Boromir couldn't make out, but the crowd roared with laughter, so it must have been ribald.  
  
Now it was down to Nathron and Sionnach. Their feet seemed to blur as they whirled and leapt through the passes of the dance. Illyur increased the tempo to an impossible pace, and the two dancers collided. They clung to each other for a moment laughing and gasping for air, then turned to bow to their audience.  
  
Seeing that the show was over, Boromir hurried down the remaining stairs and pushed his way through the crowd to their table.  
  
"Well and look who finally escaped his gaolers!" Iolair shouted with glee. The flush on her face was only partial born of the exertion of the dance. She was obviously drunk, but holding her liquor well.  
  
"I simply allowed them to talk one another to sleep and slipped out under the noise of their collective snoring. I hope I have not come too late to partake of the revelry." Boromir replied with a smile.  
  
"The revelry has barely begun, my lord." Sionnach murmured appreciatively from very close behind him.  
  
"Then let it progress apace, my lovely. Unfortunately the night can not extend its cloak one instant longer than its allotted span, even for such pleasurable events as we pursue." Boromir half turned toward her and gave her a look that let her know he was game for whatever revelry she could devise. 


End file.
